I Wish
by Darcy
Summary: Set during S6. Buffy and Spike are still lusting after each other, but Spike wants more. He runs into Halfrek/Cecily in a demon bar and makes a wish. Spuffy-wackiness (spackiness?) ensues. *complete*
1. Default Chapter

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1I WISH…

A/N:  Takes place during season six between  "Older and Far Away" and "As You Were."  Spike and Buffy are still lusting after each other, but Spike wants more.  Remember all the spoilery speculation about Halfrek being Cecily?  Suppose it had been true (that she was Cecily) and these old acquaintances ran into each other in a demon bar.  Suppose Spike made a wish…

Disclaimer:  All the characters depicted in this fic are the property of Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon.  I own nothing. 

Chapter 1

The place was too bloody quiet—like the Starbuck's across town or say, the _library_.  There'd been no stabbings, stakings or dismemberments all night.  And they called this a demon bar?  Spike glanced at his watch, then shrugged.  

Well, it was still early…

He took a swig of his whiskey.  Of course he'd be out of there in less than an hour.  He had a date, of sorts, with the Slayer in his crypt—in his bed to be exact.  

This little "thing" they had…

Now, he wasn't complaining.  He knew a good thing when he saw one, but…

It wouldn't last.  She didn't love him. He knew it.

Eventually, Buffy would snap out of this—whatever it was she was going through—and realize she'd made a mistake.  And that mistake of course…was him.

Ah, if only… TC \l1 "

"I wish…" he found himself muttering.

"You wish?"

Spike looked at the woman who had just seated herself next to him at the bar.  She wore a clingy, red sweater dress that accentuated her curves.  Her brown hair was like a lion's man, painstakingly arranged to look tousled.  Halfrek leaned closer to Spike, invading his personal space.  Her eyes gleamed as a knowing, cat-like smile spread across her face.

"Bloody Hell, woman!"  He jerked back, nearly toppling from his stool.

"Ah, now that's no way to speak to an old friend," she chided him.

"You're no friend, Cecily."

"So you say now," she demurred, "but I recall a time when you thought me, oh what was the word?  Ah yes.  _Effulgent_."

"Yeah, well that was a long time ago.  I'm not the pathetic sap that you knew back then.  I've changed—completely."

"Well, of course you have," her eyes flickered over his leather coat, tight black jeans and vibrant blue silk shirt.  She noticed the gold chain glinting in the dim light of the bar.  "So tell me, what's a self-respecting 'bad boy' like you doing, sitting alone in a demon bar, drinking your troubles away?"

"I'm not–"

"Hm.  Judging from your past, I'd guess you've got girl problems."

Scowling.  "Girl problems?  You're out of your bleeding gourd!"

Halfrek raised an eyebrow and gave him a condescending look.  "Am I?"

"Damn right!" Spike retorted.  "I haven't--"

"Oh, William you can't fool me.  It's written all over your face."

"Over my face?"

"Of course, I'm a _justice_ demon—I pick up on these things.  So, where is she then—this girl of yours?" Halfrek scanned the room, brown curls bouncing about her shoulders.  "I'm just dying to meet her.  Is she here?"

"Well no…"

"Who is she then?  Anyone I know?"

"Well…"

Halfrek signaled to the bartender.  "I'd like a glass of wine please," she said, "and a refill for my friend here—better make it a double."  She turned back to Spike.  "Now tell me about this _girlfriend of yours.  What's she like?"_

* * *

"So then," Spike slurred, "she beat the living crap out of me in this alley—after I was trying to _help_ the ungrateful bitch!  And then she tells me…"

"Go on."

"And then she tells me…that she isn't _my girl_…that she's _never _gonna be _my girl…"_

"Wow," Halfrek whistled and leaned back in her seat.  "She sounds like a good candidate for vengeance work—I may have to pay her a visit later.  What did you say her name was?"

Eyes glazed, Spike stared at the clouded mirror across the bar and the empty space above his stool where his reflection should've been.  "S'not her fault," he said in a small, defeated voice.  "It's me.  I'm a…" He turned to Halfrek.  "I'm a monster, s'all."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, William…"

"She's never gonna love me," he whispered, turning back to the mirror.  "Never gonna love a monster.  If only…"

"Yes?"

"But I was a man once," his voice sounded tired, old.  "There's still a part of me…deep down…trying to rise to the surface.  But she doesn't see him—she won't.  If she would just see…  I wish…  I wish she would see him…" 

* * *

Spike hurried through the cemetery, panting despite the fact he didn't need to breathe.  The Slayer was going to kill him.  The Slayer was going to kill him.  The Slayer was going to kill him!

Or worse yet.  Leave.

The night air chilled him and served as an effective cold shower, sobering him up.  When he reached the crypt, he was like a freezer pop.  He shivered despite himself.

Nearly knocking the door down in his haste to open it, he stumbled into the dark crypt.  "Buffy?"

He was late.  So bloody late.

"Buffy?"

Silence.

He slid down the ladder leading to his sleeping chambers.

"Buffy?"

She was reclining on the bed, propped up on her elbows.  She yawned, sat upright and rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes.  "Spike?"  Her eyes focused on him, sharpening into topaz daggers.  "You're late," she said, draping the sheet around her and rising from the bed.  "I've got to go.  Dawn's waiting."

Her back was now to him as she proceeded to put on her clothes.  Hesitantly, he placed a hand on her bare shoulder.  She shivered and turned around.

"You're like ice," she whispered, brushing her fingers over his.  She looked up at him with the stirrings of desire and touched his face.  "So cold…"

"Buffy, I'm sorry."  His words rushed out.  "I'm a blooming idiot.  I—"

"Shhh."  She pressed her forefinger to his lips.  "It's okay."  She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest; her warmth made him feel giddy like he'd just downed a glass of brandy.  She guided him to the bed then gave him a shove.   He tumbled backward onto the sheets, looking up at her in surprise as she quickly shrugged off the clothes she'd just put on.  "Now," Buffy breathed, "let's hurry—before you get warm."

His eyes widened.  "But I'm not—"

She smiled.  "Don't worry," she descended, deft hands on his belt, "I'll take care of it."

* * *

Halfrek stood outside the crypt, head bowed, face obscured by shadow.  She looked up suddenly, revealing the hideous mask of a vengeance demon and made a sweeping gesture with her hands.

"Wish granted," she proclaimed in a low, gravelly voice.

* * *

William sat alone in a corner; fountain pen in one ink-stained hand, parchment in the other.

His lips fluttered as he read the poem back to himself, searching for another word for 'gleaming.' 

_Glowing.  No.  Sparkling.  No._  

It had to be perfect.  Like her.

It came to him at last as he saw her descending the stairs.  "Cecily"," her name was poetry in itself, her beauty indescribable.  Yet he tried.  And the word emerged with shining brilliance.  

_Effulgent_.

His pen moved rapidly over the parchment with nervous energy.  The poem was finished.  Finally, he was going to tell her all that she meant to him.

He stood to join the group, but staggered as the room began to spin.

* * *

It was a dream.  A dream like he'd never had before.  This wasn't Cecily frolicking naked in a fountain.  Or perched in a tree, proffered apple in hand.  This was…

Something entirely different.

His eyes strayed down…down…

_Hair like wheat fields, shining in the mid-day sun.  Shorn._  He frowned.  _Like the village squire's._

He shook his head, dispelling the last image from his mind.

His seductress looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and her breathing shallow.  One last time, her tongue lashed out and his torso jerked upward.

"I think you're ready," she said, sliding up his body until her face was just inches from his.

William stared at her, paralyzed, then slowly nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ah, the ecstasy.  Ah, the…

"No, luv, don't stop."

One minute, he was in hot dog heaven, and the next…not so hot.  She was being coy, that was it.  She was being—

"What's happened to him?"  A woman's voice.  Not Buffy's.

"He appears to have fainted."  A man.

"Buffy?"  Spike's eyes flew open.

"He's awake!"

"Halfrek?"

"He seems to be delirious."  Cecily eyed him coldly.

"Halfrek, what's going on?"

"He keeps calling me Halfrek."

Spike looked around him.  The setting was strangely familiar; the drawing room of an old Victorian home.  The faces were also familiar—more curious than concerned.  He recognized them from his past.  And Halfrek, no… Cecily…

"William?" A man named Derby asked.  "Are you all right, chap?"

"I'm…" he began, sitting up.  "I'm terrible actually."  

_Mild understatement._

Spike then stood up and waved the small gathering off.  "I'm fine really."

"Ah well, I'm afraid William's little spill has been the most excitement we've had all night."  Derby again.

"Yes, it _has_ been terribly dull tonight," another man agreed.

"I'm all for dull."  A third man.  "Have you heard that there's been another disappearance?"

"Another one?"  

The crowd tittered.

"Yes and I hear the police still haven't the foggiest idea of who's responsible—be it animal or human." 

"How horrible!" a woman exclaimed.

"William," Derby turned to Spike, who was now lurking on the fringes of the crowd, "what say you about the recent rash of disappearances in our town?"

"Oh, I don't…" Spike started, then paused, getting a familiar glint in his eye.  "Actually, I _do have a theory…"_

* * *

She was insatiable.  Utterly insatiable.

After the third of fourth go, he'd pretty much realized that this was no dream.

No.  This was real.  As real as the bruises on his thighs, chest, shoulders…

His entire body ached.

And still—she wasn't done.

"Again?" William asked timidly as Buffy rolled on top of him, lightly kissing him on the lips, then straying down, down to his throat, then to his chest, then stomach, then lower…  

Her hot breath made him shiver as her skillful tongue darted over, under, around and around.

"Oh my," he whimpered as her mouth engulfed him.  "Oh my."

No, she wasn't done.  And much to his surprise, neither was he.

He ran his fingers through her hair, marveling at the silky feel and shining, golden color.  He had no idea where he was, whom he was with, or how he'd gotten there, but at the moment, he really didn't care.

Gently, he guided her back up to face him.  His blue eyes studied her face.  

_So beautiful._

And yet, the look in her eyes was almost feral.  She closed them tight, maneuvered herself over him, then began the rhythmic rocking he'd become so familiar with.  Their bodies meshed together as if they were made for each other.  A perfect fit.

And the way she moved… The way she made him feel…

_Oh._

He closed his eyes and lost himself yet again in the magical rhythm their bodies made together.

* * *

After she'd gotten dressed, Buffy stared down at the vampire sleeping blissfully in his bed, covers tucked under his chin.  His expression was so peaceful—innocent almost—with a stray platinum lock falling onto his forehead.

She sighed, feeling strangely unfulfilled.  Although it wasn't like Spike hadn't risen to the occasion—repeatedly…

Something was different about him.

His touch had been tentative tonight; he seemed a little clumsy and unsure of himself.  Normally, Spike relished in his expertise, his ability to bring her to the edge and keep her there indefinitely.  She'd be his prisoner until he decided to release her.  For him, lovemaking was an unlikely blend of art and war.  A dangerous dance; she'd never felt safe in his arms.  

And she liked it that way.

But tonight, it was almost as if she'd been with someone else.  Someone kinder, gentler…

Someone who was good, instead of evil.

Someone…

Buffy sighed again.  She didn't have time to linger any longer.  She'd let Dawn down once again.  Reality, and its enormous weight, started to come down on her.  She felt it as she always did…except, maybe, when she was with him.

Lightly, she pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Sleep," she whispered, then quietly left the crypt.

* * *

In the morning, William awoke to the sound of humming.  It was coming from above.  Someone was up there, moving about.  He heard a click, then some muffled voices, then a soft…crunching noise.

Where was he?

The room was unfamiliar.  Cave-like.  Had he been somehow captured?  Taken prisoner by…

By whom?  The beautiful, golden-haired nymph of the previous night?

Perhaps it was she that he heard upstairs…

He got out of bed and started for a ladder near the center of the room.  A cool breeze passing by him alerted him to the fact that—he was naked.

Hands reflexively covered his private parts and he looked about the room for something to wear.  Slung over a chair were some clothes—strange looking garments.  A worn leather coat, black pants in a rough, working class cloth.  He picked up a silky shirt the color of sapphires.  He put it on.

The humming from above stopped and the muffled voices grew louder.  There was distant-sounding laughter and then a loud chuckling, and then a snort.  Then snorting chuckles.

Cautiously, he crept up the ladder and peered into the chamber above.  What he saw gave him a shock.

A creature, half-man and half-dog—wrinkled like a Sharpei.  It sat on a worn chair, watching a strange box and eating some unknown food from a shiny bag perched in its lap.

William felt lightheaded.  Black dots appeared before his eyes.  He blinked hard twice, then fainted.

  


 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Clem peered down the rabbit hole leading to the lower half of his friend's lair.  The vampire was sprawled, unconscious on the dirt floor fifteen feet below.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?"  the flappy-eared demon asked.

William stirred, moaned a bit, then opened his eyes.  "What?" he asked groggily.

"I asked if you're okay."

"I'm…" the 19th century would-be poet began.  He squinted up at Clem.  "Who…?"

Still looking down, Clem stood up and waved several videos over the hole for his friend to see.  "I brought some movies.  I got "Clueless," "Excess Baggage," and even "Blast from the Past."  I thought we could have an Alicia Silverstone marathon today."

"Alicia who?"

"Aw c'mon.  Don't do this to me, Spike!  Alicia Silverstone.  I mean, she's like _so underrated as an actress…don't ya think?"_

"Um, er…"

"And I've got popcorn and cheetos…it's gonna be great…"

* * *

Buffy sat in her kitchen sipping coffee from a mug she'd gotten as a birthday gift from Spike a week earlier.  Embarrassed by the lavishness of the other presents she'd received at her party, he'd quietly given it to her the next night.

She held it up and smiled.

On the mug was a photo of the vampire—wicked grin and all—and below it the words:  "Warning:  I Bite."

"Not last night," she muttered and took another swig of the overly sweetened liquid.

Willow walked in.  "Hey."

Buffy.  "Hey."

"How's it going?"

Hah, a loaded question!  But she had no idea.

"Fine," Buffy replied absently.

"You look kinda worried about something."

"Do I?"  Buffy peered at her reflection in the side of a stainless steel toaster oven.  "Nah, I'm just practicing my 'pensive Buffy' expression.  You know, with no Giles around—somebody's gotta look that way."

"I see…" Willow shot her a doubtful look.  She noticed the coffee mug.  "Ooh, I see you're using the mug…"

"Yeah, well all the other ones were dirty," Buffy lied.

Willow leaned closer to her friend to examine the mug.  "You know, if I weren't like—gay now—I'd actually think that Spike was kinda—"

"Don't say it!" 

Willow altered her course, just slightly.  "But don't you think that Spike's been…acting kinda different lately?"

"No."  More lying Buffy.  "Not the slightest bit." 

"Well, I've kinda noticed—"

"Nah," Buffy cut in.  Unless you count his uncharacteristically tender and gentle lovemaking last night…  "Not different.  Nope.  Not at all…"

* * *

It was almost too easy.  He had them eating out of the palm of his hand—these Victorians.  So prim and proper.  So easy to shock.  Spike shot a sideways look to Cecily who'd been openly staring at him for the last half-hour.

_See me now, do you?_  He winked at her and grinned rakishly.

"Fascinating.  Simply fascinating, William," Derby commented.  "And you say you've had many encounters with these creatures…?"

"Another story!" a woman demanded.

"Yes, another one!" agreed a man.

Spike held up his hands, laughing.  "No.  No.  Maybe another time."  He glanced at Cecily, who nodded at him then moved to another part of the room.  "I've uh, got to go," he quickly muttered.

The disappointed crowd dispersed and Spike strode over to where Cecily now sat.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat next to hers.

She looked up at him, flushed a bit, then nodded.  "Please," she said, eyes lowered.

He smiled, sat down and composed himself.  This was a moment he'd replayed in his head many times.  A defining moment, so to speak.  He'd regretted it for over a century.  Now he had a chance to change it.  

"Oh those…"  What was the word he'd originally used?  Ah yes…  "Vulgarians!"

 Cecily looked up, a little confused.  "Excuse me?"

"Oh they're so utterly depraved, vile…  I could go on forever.  But they're not like—_you and I_."

"You and I?"

The bait had been set.

A flicker of understanding shone in Cecily's eyes.  "William."

"Yes?"

"Those poems of yours…"

"I know, they're awful…"

"I was wondering."

"Hm?"  He was relishing every second.

"Are they…are they about—me?"

"You?"  And here it was.  The moment.  "You think they're about you?"  He did his best to sound incredulous.

She nodded, then asked almost shyly.  "Well, are they?"

Spike suppressed a smirk.  

Then with feigned indignation, he thundered, "Hell no, woman!  Not one syllable!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

William munched on a cheeto, then reached for another.

"These really are quite tasty," he said, sounding like a little British kid who'd just had his first Skittle.  "What did you say these were called again?"

Clem glanced over at his friend and frowned; the expression creating forty new wrinkles on his already creased face.  "Che-e-e-to-o-es," he said.  "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

The demon walked over to his friend who was sitting in a worn, but comfortable recliner positioned in front of the television and placed a palm on the vampire's forehead.  "Nope.  Cold.  But, I have to say it, Spike.  You're acting weeeeei-r-r-duh!"

William looked up at Clem, the worst case of elephantiasis he'd ever seen.  Such a strange looking fellow, though friendly enough.  And it was funny that he kept calling him "Spike."  No, as far as William was concerned _he_ wasn't the weird one here.  Quite the opposite. 

Things had been off-kilter ever since he'd awoken–no, before that–ever since the girl...

William swallowed hard at the thought of her.  Who was she?  He hadn't even caught her name.  He recalled the way she'd touched him–everywhere–the previous night, the things she'd done to him, and the things _he_ had done back....

He shifted in his chair with discomfort as his tight black jeans suddenly grew tighter and placed the bag of cheetos in his lap, hiding the little, no make that large appendage, that had made a starring debut in last night's 'play'.  To his horror, it seemed to want to do an encore.   His head hung low with embarrassment.

_Down boy!  Not now!_

Unaware of the vampire's 'problem', Clem shrugged and walked back to canvas folding chair where he'd been sitting.  "Maybe your freaky behavior has something to do with a certain _girl you've been seeing, eh?"_

William's head shot up, his eyes wide.  "You know her?"

"Well, duh, I was just at her house last week.  I mean 'hello' you brought me there."

"You know where she lives?"

Clem stood up, hands on his hips and stared at the vampire in disbelief.  "Okay, now you're really scaring me."

"This girl," William said, excited, "blonde hair, comely..."

"Uhh, yeah..."

"Her name," he sounded breathless, "please, what is her name?"

"Oh, c'mon, Spike.  I don't know what going on with you.  Maybe it has something to do with Buffy.  Maybe not but..."__

"Her name is Buffy?"  The would-be poet's mind raced.  _Buffy, fluffy, puffy, stuffy, muffy, wuffy..._

This could be tough, but he'd have to work with it.

"Geesh!"  Clem shook his head and started for the door.  "I'd better go and talk to her.  Maybe _she's got a clue as to what your problem is."_

William sprang to his feet.  "I'm going with you."  He rushed for the door and started to open it, but Clem stopped him.

"Whoa, aren't you forgetting something?"

William stared at him, blank.

"Uh, blanket.  Don't wanna go all, smoke and ashes now do ya..."

Still blank.

"Never mind."  Clem steered the vampire back to his chair.  "You.  Stay.  Here.  I'm getting the Slayer."

"The Slayer?"

"You know…Buffy."

"She's called the Slayer?"  _How odd, but strangely appropriate after last night._

Clem let out a loud exhale, then went over to the t.v.  "Look, I'll put on "Clueless" for you.  You can watch it while you're waiting.  It's my favorite..."

* * *

Buffy stared out from behind the counter of the Double Meat Palace with a searching, fairy-tale-princess-trapped-in-a-tower look, that seemed to scream "Oh Spike, take me away from here!"__

Of course he'd offered, a few weeks back.  And of course she'd turned him down, but...

God, she was an idiot!

She sighed for like the twelfth time in the last five minutes before being rudely interrupted from her deep thoughts by, of all things, a customer.

"Uh, excuse me, Miss?  I've been like standing here for a while now," said a squat man with a bald head and bushy eyebrows.  He waved his hand in front of Buffy's face as one would to a blind person.

Buffy started, blinked hard then focused on the customer.  "Oh I'm sooo sorry.  Didn't see ya there."

"Hmmph!" the man said, eyeing her with irritation.

"What would you like to order?" Buffy the Double Meat Palace worker asked.

"I'd like a–"

Just then the door went "bing, bong" signaling the arrival of another customer.  Buffy looked up.

"Clem!"

"Hey, Buffy!" The demon sauntered up to the counter.

"What brings you here?"

"Well, I–"

"Excuse me," said the bushy-browed man.  "But I was here first."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Buffy apologized, then took care of his order.  When he'd finally stomped out of the DMP with his bag full of greasy goodies, Buffy turned her attention back to Clem who was patiently waiting on the side.

"So, what's up?" she asked.

"Well," Clem said, "I thought _you_ might be able to tell _me_."

She shot him a quizzical look.  "Excuse me?"

"It's Spike.  Something's really strange about him lately."

Buffy nodded.  "Yeah, I think I know what you mean..."  

"You've noticed it too?"

"Mmmhmm."  _Er, lovemaking reminiscent of Riley?  That gentle, you're the first woman I've ever been with kind of thing.  _Yeah, she'd noticed it.

"Yeah, well he's been acting really bizarre lately–not himself.  I mean he even asked me what a cheeto was!  And the way he was talking–the accent–all "Masterpiece Theater" or something!  I mean what gives?"

"I don't know.  But you're right...there is something different about him."

"It's like he's pulling a Sibyl–you know–split personality.  Almost like he's somebody else.  So I was thinking, maybe this has something to do with..."

"Yes?"

"Something to do with...you know...you and him...and...what's been going on between you two..."

Buffy frowned.  "You know about that?"

"Yeah, he kind of mentioned it one night, but don't worry, you're secret's safe with me."

"Thanks," she said, still frowning.

"Anyway, I was thinking–maybe you should go and talk to him later."

"Sure." The furrow between her brows now appeared permanent.  "I'll stop by the crypt after I finish my shift."

* * *

He felt wonderfully numb–but what the hell was wrong with his legs?

Spike tried to stand, staggered, then sat back down.  His feet were heavy; his head light.

He'd never been so completely and totally drunk in all his life.  And now the party was over and the remaining guests were filtering out.  He had to leave.

"Are you all right, William?" the host, a man named Douglas asked.  "Should I arrange a ride?"

"N-no.  I'll be fine," Spike replied, rising to his feet.  He swayed a bit, steadied himself on the arm of the chair he'd been sitting on, then managed a smiled. "See?"

Douglas looked doubtful.  "I don't know..."

A woman approached them.  "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"Sloshed, I'm afraid," Douglas replied.

"Oh dear.  I've never seen William behave quite this way before," she commented.  "And earlier...I'm afraid he had poor Cecily near tears.  She left in a terrible hurry not long after he spoke with her."

"Hm."

"S-s-serves the little bint right!" Spike sneered.

The woman's eyes widened.  "Excuse me?"

"Sloshed, I'm afraid," Douglas said again.  He led Spike to the foyer.  "Are you sure I can't arrange a ride for you, William?"

"Abso-lu-tely."  Spike replied, his gaze glazed but steady.  He grabbed his coat from the servant, shrugged it on, then stumbled out the door and into the streets.

On the way home, he paused at a familiar dark alley and looked around.  It was empty.  

_But this is the place...where...Dru..._

"Bloody hell!"  He glanced at his watch and realized that it was after midnight.  Stunned, he leaned against a brick wall, catching his breath.

Had history just been changed tonight?  He straightened, then headed for home.  He thought of Buffy, and of being a vampire, and of Sunnydale.  Would he ever go back?  And what the hell had happened to him, anyway?

He was definitely human, and yet...strangely soulless.  Was it possible?

His head started to hurt as the effects of the alcohol he'd consumed that night waned.  __

_Can't think._

He quickened his pace and felt his heart start to hammer as he realized that it was late, he was drunk and–

_Oh bugger, Mother's going to kill me..._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A/N – Sorry for the delay.  Damn writer's block!  Anyway, here's chapter five.  BTW, I've quoted a few lines from the movie "Clueless" which was written by Amy Heckerling.  Warning:  unless you've seen that movie a few times, the first scene may not make much sense.  And without further adieu...

William sat staring at the picture box, transfixed.  His brows knitted as he wondered to himself, what was a "cake boy?"  And more specifically, what was a "disco-dancing, Oscar Wilde-reading, Streissand ticket-holding friend of Dorothy?"

After several seconds of pondering, he decided that "cake boy" must be a complimentary term.  He scrambled around the room until he found a scrap of paper and an odd-looking pen, and quickly wrote down the new phrases he'd learned.  

Although initially fazed by the odd turn of events that had happened to him, he now found himself feeling—for the first time in his life—truly alive.  And though he was absolutely 'clueless' about how he'd landed in such a strange and wondrous adventure, he'd decided to grab onto it with both hands, hold tight and see where it would lead him.  

To passion…to wealth…to ultimate enlightenment..?

Oh hell, at least he'd escaped Mother.

A wide grin spread over his face at _that _thought.  

William turned back to the picture box and the 'movie' the flappy-eared man had referred to as "Clueless".  He found himself totally engrossed.  Although the story was most foreign to him, something about it seemed familiar.  He recalled a book written by a particular English author…Jane Austen was it?

And then towards the end of the movie, after he'd watched the young heroine, standing in front of a fountain, realize that she loved, of all people, her ex-step-brother and utter, "I am majorly, totally, butt-crazy in love with Josh!" he picked up his pen and jotted down "butt-crazy."

* * *

_Klunk.  _

To Buffy's ears it was probably the richest, most satisfying sound she'd heard all day.  Yeah, it almost made the hours she'd worked in her demeaning, depressing, dead-end job worthwhile.  Or not.

Sighing softly, she slid her time card into the appropriate slot in the metal rack on the wall, and picked up the neat paper sack that contained Dawn's dinner—one that would undoubtedly be received with groans, a look of disgust, and finally, a stomping to the teenager's bedroom.  "I already ate," she'd say, or "I'm not hungry" was another common response.  Buffy had grown tired of it, but held her tongue.  Lecturing or arguing or fighting could only drive them further apart.  And they were already at shouting distance.  

So instead, she continued to bring Dawn's dinner home, lovingly prepared, with an extra tomato slice and the crispest lettuce leaves.  She'd leave it on the kitchen counter where it would sit until the following morning, when it would ultimately be disposed of—without a word or even a thought.

Clutching the paper sack, Buffy headed out the door.  But she wouldn't think about Dawn just yet.  She wasn't going straight home.  She had a slight detour, a certain vampire to see.  Yeah, that would cheer her up.  At least there was one person on this Earth whose existence was actually more depressing than her own.  She stopped and thought for a second.  

Or was there?

* * *

Anya frowned as she sorted through racks of colorful bridesmaid dresses.  "Nothing appeals to me," she complained.  "These dresses are just so…"

"Hideous?" Halfrek said, holding up a full-length, lilac-colored satin gown with a large silk flower pinned to its front.

"Yeah," Anya sighed, "I'd actually had my heart set on the traditional burlap and larvae, but Xander got a little freaked about it.  Said he'd never be able to explain _that one_ to his parents."

Halfrek made a clucking noise and stuck the bridesmaid gown back on the rack.  "Well, you already know how I feel about mixed marriages, Anyanka.  I mean I hate to say it so late in the game and all, but…demon-human relationships, as a whole, just don't work.  Take Spike for example—"

"Spike?"

"Oh, sorry.  Little slip there."  Halfrek made a zipping motion over her lips.  "Not supposed to discuss my ongoing cases—you know—the whole 'wishee confidentiality' thing."

"But, we always used to…"  The former demon's protest trailed off.

"Sorry, honey, but you know the rules."

"Right.  And I guess since I'm not exactly a vengeance demon anymore, the whole mixed marriage issue really doesn't apply to Xander and me," Anya said quietly before turning her attention back to the rack of dresses in front of her.  Halfrek did like-wise and browsed for several more minutes before pulling out a dress for closer inspection.

"Oh hey!"  Halfrek's eye's lit up as she stared admiringly at a long, emerald green dress with a skirt full of ruffles that kind of resembled sea weed.  "Look what I found!"

Anya's expression brightened as she gazed at the gown.  "Oh wow," she said, getting a little teary-eyed.

"I think this is the one!" Halfrek chimed in a sing-song voice.

Anya nodded, wiping away a tear.  "It's gorgeous!"

* * *

Spike tiptoed down the grand staircase leading to the foyer.  It was morning and two voices could be heard coming from the dining room:  one was energetic, light, and cheerful; the other was shrill, clipped and clearly agitated.

Emily and Mother.

He quickened his pace at the sound of the former then slowed at the thought of the latter.  A pain, like the one emitted by the chip only dull and constant—and alcohol related—made him stop completely and hold his head in both hands.  He fought the urge to howl like a bloodhound.  Mother was already plenty angry.  No need to upset her further.

_Get it together, Spike.  Get it—_

"William?"  His mother's voice, sounding eerily similar to the Wicked Witch of the West's, interrupted his thoughts, cut through his pain and made him stand at attention.  How was it that she could sense him lurking more than ten feet from the dining room entrance.  What was she?  Some sort of demon?

_Hmmm.  That would explain a lot._

"William?  What are you doing out there?  I can hear you shuffling about.  Get in here this instant!  I wish to have a word with you!" said the Wicked Witch.

Spike slunk over to the dining room, pausing in the doorway.  Mother shot him a disapproving look: eyes narrowed, lips pursed.  Upon examination, she not only sounded like the Wicked Witch, but she resembled her as well.  Although she lacked the pointy black hat and wasn't green, she had the same hawk-like nose, hollowed out cheekbones, and eyes that bore into you, sending a message.  And the message was clear.  Don't f*!@k with me.  And people rarely did.  Father on occasion.  Emily once or twice.  But William never. 

Mother had been a beauty once.  In her day.  But now, barely forty, she was hardened by life and its disappointments.  William was her biggest.

Emily, his sister, suppressed a giggle and covered her smile with a delicate hand.  Spike turned to her and his eyes immediately softened.  Emily was fifteen, the same age as Dawn.  Her warm brown eyes mocked him.

"So," his mother barked, "our William has decided to join us at last."  She glanced at the clock on the far wall.  "Emily and I have already finished our breakfast, but we'll linger on here and keep you company."

"Oh, there's no need," Spike began, sounding hopeful.

"Nonsense!"  She waved her hand in an imperial manner.  "Now, sit down!" 

He opened his mouth to protest—something he would never have done in his pre-vampire days—thought better of it and quickly seated himself across from his sister and to the left of his mother.  

"Now," his mother said, tilting her chin up a fraction so she could look down her nose at him, "do you mind telling me where you were last night and why you came home at such an ungodly hour?"

"I, uh, I…"  Spike stammered.

_Oh, c'mon, be a man!_

He contorted his mouth into a wooden smile and blinked back his fear.  "I was out, as all," he said finally.

"Out?"  Wicked's eyes bulged.  "Out?  What kind of answer is that?"

"Well…" __

Emily laughed.  "Oh Mother, don't you understand?"  Her eyes gleamed like an evil child's.  "Our William's _in love_.  Can't you see that?  _Obviously_, he was with Cecily last night."

"Cecily?"  Mother's dark arches shot together.  

Spike scowled and sent a warning look to Emily.  "Well actually, I was at a party.  Lost track of the time."

"I'll bet _Cecily_ was there," Emily added.

"Now, Little Bit," he said to his sister, "I'm not sure where you're getting these crazy ideas about Cecily—"

"From your journal," Emily explained matter-of-factly, "and, William, how many times have I told you not to call me that _horrible_ nickname!  I'm _fifteen_ for heaven's sake!"

* * *

"Spike?"  The door flew open after she'd given it a good "take that" shove.  Slayer eyes narrowed, she scanned the dusky crypt and spotted the vampire sitting in his favorite, garbage-dump-find recliner.  He immediately scrambled to his feet and stared at her, eyes wide, surprised.

"It's you," he said, voice filled with wonder.  "You're…Buffy…"

"Uh huh," she grunted, eyeing him with uncertainty.  She took five slow steps towards him.

"I'm," he began, took a deep breath, and then smiled, "I'm glad you came."

"Yeah, well, Clem thought you were acting pretty freaky earlier.  He thought I should come talk to you."

"Freaky?"  he asked, baffled.  He bent down and picked up a scrap of paper and started scanning it.

"Yeah."  She inched closer, her eyes never leaving his face.  His perfect, chiseled, beautiful face.  She suddenly felt, as she often did when in his presence, drawn to him. 

_Drawn—as if by gravity._

"I'm not sure I…"  His blue eyes locked with hers.  Gravity pulled her closer.

And closer.

But she was here to talk.

_Oh yeah._

Buffy frowned.  But talking wasn't something they normally did.  Well he talked, obviously.  He talked a lot.  But what he usually said, she didn't like.  Things like, "you belong in the dark with me…"  Okay, maybe she did kind of like some of the things he said.  In a strange, twisted, "you came back wrong" kind of way.  But she hadn't come back wrong.  She'd come back right.  Right?

_Hmmm._

Buffy's eyes strayed down to the vampire's lips.  Those thin but sensuous Spike lips.  And damn gravity kept pulling.  Getting stronger as she got closer.  Until…

Wham!

Their bodies collided.  Lips locked.  There was tongue action.  Arms winded around torsos.  You couldn't defy the laws of gravity, right? After all, it was freakin' physics.  She'd talk to Spike…after.  She pushed thoughts of his earlier strangeness to the back of her mind and concentrated on their kiss.  A kiss, which, oddly enough, tasted like cheetoes.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A/N – Okay, this story is definitely getting more and more "R" rated.  So, Mom, if you're out there, please turn back now!  This is not for your eyes!

A/N 2 – Sorry for the delay.  I had major problems with this chapter and just I couldn't stop tweaking it.  It's kind of like getting carried away with the tweezerman and then being left with a horrible mess (or just terribly thin eyebrows).  Anyway, I had to step away for a while and give it some air.  It's still not quite right, but I'm tired of tweaking and just wanted to move on.  If anyone out there has some constructive comments/ideas, they'd be greatly appreciated.  Thanks!

_His loins were on fire_

_With a manly desire_

_That burned in his heart_

_Like a hot, hot, pop tart…_

But his kisses were sparing.  Light, little gold-fish kisses that went 'pip' instead of 'smack'.  This was by design.  Although 'his loins were on fire,' _he_ was determined to show restraint this time.  After all, he knew almost nothing about this girl, and she, he surmised, thought him to be someone else—someone named 'Spike'.  The flappy-eared fellow had also referred to him by this rather unusual name and William was suddenly feeling guilty about his unintended deception.  Taking advantage of this poor, er, innocent girl was simply…wrong.

He had to tell her the truth.  No.  Truths.  There was more than one.  The first and most obvious, his identity.  But the second…

He hadn't yet come to terms with, or understood them himself; still he knew they were there.  

Feelings.  

And it was more than just lust—although physical attraction was a large part of it.  But beyond that, he could feel a connection between them.  A bond.  Perhaps…possibly…could it be?

Surely, it must.  Yes, there was no denying it.  The stirrings of love.  Sweet, warm, passionate…'butt crazy' love.

He had to tell her the truth, his feelings…everything.  And then he'd find out about _her_.  He already knew of her body, but what of her mind and soul?  There was intelligence in her eyes—and strength.  But was it only an illusion?  He had to find out.

There was just one problem though, every time he opened his mouth to speak, her tongue got in the way.  

Sighing inwardly, he pondered the situation.  Buffy had _said_ she wanted talk when she'd first entered the room, but her actions had proved most contrary.  She'd barely spoken five words before she'd rushed at him like a charging bull, grabbed his shirt and pulled.  His breastbone still smarted from their chest-to-chest collision and he found himself feeling a bit mournful of the fact that she wasn't as bosomy as Cecily.

But Buffy _was _beautiful.  Gleaming.  And even—effulgent.  

He so admired her pearl white teeth; her hair, fine and glowing like spun gold.  And her body—so sleek, so nubile, so totally smooth.  He remembered how his eyes had roved up and down her perfection the previous night, and how surprised he'd been to discover that her secret place, i.e. her hidden treasure, was as smooth as the rest of her body.  How strange!  She was completely shaved, sheared like a lamb—and down there!  Eyes glued to the fleshy folds, he'd cried out in astonishment.  She'd responded with a quizzical look, mumbling something about it having been _his _handiwork, and that the hair used to make his nose itch.  

"Nose itch?" he'd asked, baffled.  Then in response, she'd grabbed his head with both hands, and smashed his schnozzle into her bald cleft.  

Just thinking of their previous encounter gave him a shiver, a rush and a tingle.  But before pip turned to smack, he dug deep within himself, garnering every scrap of willpower he had.  There wasn't much left, but it was just enough to push her away.

"Please," he breathed, "Buffy, I…I wish to speak with you, if I may."

She looked up at him, shocked, confused, annoyed and for a moment, speechless.  "Excuse me?" she said finally, eyeing him as if he were an insane asylum escapee.

"I…" he began, smiled nervously, fingered a lock of her hair, then smiled again, "I wish to get to know you better.  Have a conversation."

Her mouth opened, bottom jaw slack, but she didn't answer.

His eyes were earnest, studying her face.  His fingers went from her hair to her cheek, grazing it with gentle, loving strokes.  "I…er, we…know each other in the way that men and women throughout the ages have known one another.  And though, I stand here in awe of your beauty and er…um, talents, I…I wish to form a connection with you that goes much deeper."  William paused, noting Buffy's frown.  He smiled weakly, then continued.  "I am not like many of my sex, who think that women are most appealing when silent.  I believe that they are our equals—in all respects—mind, body, soul.  Marriage, after all, is a partnership of two halves, joined together—"

"Whoa!"  Buffy held up her hand, stopping his chatter.  "Spike, where's all this coming from?  You're talking about wives, marriage, _getting to know me_?  What's with you?"

"I, uh, I…"  William stammered.  "I wanted to tell you how I feel...about you."

Buffy paused for second, then looked at him with a hint amusement.  "But I already _know_ how you feel about me," she said suggestively.

"Yes, but—"

She snatched his hand away from her cheek, pulling it down so that it hovered just above her shaven place.  "And you know how _I_ feel about _you_," she continued in a low voice, unbuttoning her jeans, then sliding his hand beneath her silky underwear.

He frowned.  "No, actually I don—"

She guided his fingers further down, cupping them, and curving them into the Bath-like hot springs.

"Oh yeah, you do," she murmured.

"But, but…"  He gulped.  He dug deep again.  This was hard.  He was hard.  But he couldn't go on with this charade; he had to tell her.  "I have a little confession to make," he half-panted.  He withdrew his fingers, which now felt slippery.

"A confession?" she asked, eyes closed, biting her bottom lip.  Her hand went down to fill the void that had been left by his.

"Yes," he said, swallowing hard, "I'm not who you think I am."

"You're not…"  Her eyes opened, looking dreamy, but sharpening by the second.

He took a deep breath.  "I'm not Spike." 

* * *

Smiling was difficult.  But he tried.  Mostly, he just nodded his head and mumbled things like "yes, Mother," "you don't say, Mother," and "I totally agree, Mother."  Rarely during the excruciating thirty-minutes that was breakfast did he _shake_ his head.  He certainly didn't do the characteristic head tilt with the sly 'bad boy' look.  And he absolutely did not utter the words 'bloody hell.'  Though he'd thought them at least twenty or so times.  

_Bloody Hell!  _There, he'd thought them again.

At the moment, Mother was droning on about his Aunt Clara, a woman whose sole purpose in life seemed to be getting struck with one malady or another, and thus being visited by her many relatives.  Her sister, Spike's mum, was one of the malingerer's most devoted of caregivers.  "The poor dear," she said in her high, nasal manner, "has gotten a bad case of influenza.  She's been bedridden for almost two weeks now.  I stopped by her home just yesterday and I daresay, she looks positively ghastly.  She appears to have lost a great deal of weight, and her eyes…her eyes have taken on that dull, lifeless quality that can only signal…"

Spike leaned forward, waiting for his mother to finish her sentence.  Sitting across from him, smiling and nodding at all the wrong times, Emily hummed to herself under her breath.  She was obviously not paying attention, her mind on new dresses or shoes or even hats, no doubt.  But Mother ignored her and stared at Spike.

A second ticked by.  Was she waiting for him to speak?  He cleared his throat.  "Signal what, Mother?"

Mother grimaced and her eye twitched as it often did when she was irritated.  _What_, he wondered, _what did I say?_  Another second ticked by before she spoke.

"Oh, how can one be so insensitive to the plight of another?" she asked, obviously annoyed.  "My poor sister…"  She inhaled shakily.  "It's difficult for me to say this."  She glared at her son.  "But I fear I must, as I am most unfortunate to have a son who…who simply cannot spare the time to visit an ailing aunt."

"But, Mother—" Spike began, but she cut him off.

"She's near death, William!" Mother's words were an angry squawk.  "There, now, you've made me say what I've been afraid of for so long.  My sister is dying."

Spike couldn't help but roll his eyes at his mother's last statement.  "Bollocks!" he muttered without thinking.  "That old bird has been…"  His voice trailed off as he saw the look on his mother's face.  _Oh, now you've done it!_

Her eyes were like saucers in their hollow sockets.  "What did you say?" she hissed.  She didn't wait for an answer.  "How dare you speak in such a manner.  Oh, I am utterly appalled!  What has come over you?"  Again she gave no chance for response.  "It's this woman…this Cecily…isn't it?"

At the mention of Cecily's name, Emily suddenly became attentive, eyes focusing on her mother.  Spike scowled.  "No, Mother, I assure you—"

Mother's normally pallid face, was now flushed with color.  "You foolish, foolish boy.  You think this girl cares for you?  You, and your bloody awful poetry!  You're wasting your time writing that mindless drabble.  She's laughing, I tell you.  Laughing at you.  How could one not?"

Spike couldn't help but flinch.  The words stung.  Despite the fact that he was really a 120-year-old vampire trapped in the body of a twenty-one-year-old would-be poet, Mother's criticisms still got to him.  But he wasn't the fool she'd always thought him to be.  He knew that.  There were gits out there far more foolish then he.  A world of stupid gits!  Take, say, _Xander_, for example.  Now, if Mother were to meet _that_ loser, he'd look like a bleeding genius in comparison!  Hell, if only someone would sweep Xander back in time.

_Ah, I wish…_

He paused in mid-thought and frowned.  Now, wait a minute.  When had he been thinking along this line recently?  And who had he been talking to when…

"Bloody Hell!"  He slapped his forehead.  Of course!  How had he been so stupid?  He'd made a wish.  Halfrek! This was all her doing!  His face darkened as he thought about taking revenge on the demon.  But wait!  He paused in his ruminations.  Halfrek, the vengeance demon didn't exist yet.  She was still Cecily.  Beautiful, vain, _human _Cecily.  How would he ever go back home?  How—

His mind raced, barely aware of his mother's face, almost purple with displeasure.  His eyes then narrowed, thin lips curled into a smile filled with sinister hope.  He had an idea.

* * *

She felt surprised, horrified, and angry all at once.  He wasn't Spike!  But how did this happen and who was he?  She should've known.  He'd been so different last night.  

_Oh god.  Oh god!  Oh god!  Last night!_  

She'd just had sex with a complete stranger!  Then the first two feelings subsided, and there was only the last one left—anger.  Her eyes narrowed and she clenched her fists.  Her first impulse was to strike him down and pummel him senseless, but she quelled it; he was no use to her unconscious.  

"Who are you?" she demanded, "What have you done with Spike?"

His eyes widened and he took a step back.  "I'm…I'm…" he blubbered, backing up until he hit the wall.

She advanced on him, grabbed him by the throat and leaned in menacingly.  "Spill!" she yelled.

"I…I don't know anything about this Spike fellow, but my name is…I mean I'm…"

"Yes?" she prodded, tightening her grip.

"William," he said finally, quiet and fearful.

Buffy frowned.  "William?"  She recognized the name.  William the Bloody. Wasn't that what Spike had been called in his early days.  But, what did it mean?  Could it be that…

"Where did you come from?" she asked.

"Well, it's a rather odd story," he replied.  "One minute, I was at a party with some friends—"

"What city?  What year?" she barked impatiently.

He looked at her in a way that was so familiar, eyes questioning, lips slightly parted, head tilted to one o'clock.  

_Oh God, could it be? _

His mouth twitched before he answered.  "Why London, of course."

"And the year?"  Her voice was now a whisper and most of the anger had been replaced by wonder.

"The year?  Why, it's…1880."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

He'd always hated cemeteries—especially at night.  Not that he was afraid of them, of course.  No, William thought as he scuttled past gravestones, keeping pace with Buffy who was five steps ahead of him, he wasn't frightened.  It was just that—

"Oh dear lord!"

A creature loomed up in front of him.  Where had it come from?  He wasn't sure.  He stared into its yellow eyes, paralyzed.  Its face was horrible and disfigured, a leering sideshow freak.  Snarling and baring its razor sharp teeth, it lunged towards him.

William emitted a girlish scream and ducked out of its way with agility that surprised him.  The monster lurched past him, then swung around, growling, and looking as if it were about to attack again.  Then, unexpectedly, it staggered forward, its golden eyes wide.

A split-second later, the monster burst into a shower of ashes and standing in its place, brandishing a pointy stick, was Buffy.  She brushed the soot off her jacket with her free hand and held the stake in his direction.  Frozen, William stood gaping at her, wondering if she intended to dispose of him as she'd done with the creature.  But instead she lowered the stake, and took a step towards him.

"Are you okay?" she asked, studying his face with what looked like concern.

He swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, found he was unable to, then nodded once instead.  At that, her lips curled into a thin smile, obviously amused.  When William eventually found his voice, it was barely a whisper.

"What was that creature?" he asked.

Her look was questioning.  "Don't you know?"

He shook his head.

"A vampire," she replied matter-of-factly, staring him in the eye.

"V-vampire?" he stammered, astonished. He'd heard of such creatures of course…but only in books.  

Buffy nodded, took several steps toward him until she was only a foot away.   She placed a hand on his cheek and held it there for several long seconds.  He closed his eyes savoring the softness of her fingertips, remembering the previous night.  

"Cool to the touch," she commented sharply, causing his eyes to fly open.  Then her hand slid down to his chest and she patted it.  She gave him a meaningful look.  "And no heartbeat, see?"  He raised his own hand to his breast, moving it around in search of the expected thumping.  His heart should have been hammering with fear after his near-death encounter with the purported vampire, but it was strangely silent.  He looked back at her in disbelief.  

"You're one too," she said finally.

"No," he whispered, horrified.  Surely, she was mistaken!  Vampires were supposed to be evil creatures…vile!  He couldn't be…  But the lack of a heartbeat…the coolness of his skin…  And of course, there was the matter of his having been living in a crypt the past couple of days. 

Buffy sighed.  "I'm afraid so.  I'm not sure what's happened exactly, but you've got Spike's body.  It may sound kind of impossible, but trust me, these things do happen around here.  I've actually got some experience in the body-swapping department."

"Did you say body-swapping?"

"Yeah, at least that's what I think's going on here.  Could be wrong though."  Buffy shrugged, then started walking.  "We'd better get going."

"May I ask where?"

She turned to him, looking surprised.  "My place.  It's not far."

* * * 

The house was cozy.  Quite a bit smaller than his family home back in London, but it seemed comfortable and, he noted, eyeing the familiar-looking box in the corner of the living room, it had a television.  

Buffy pointed to the sofa.  "Sit!" she ordered, her tone commanding.

William sat.

"Now, you wait here.  I'll be right back.  Understand?"  

He nodded, almost expecting her next words to be "good puppy".  But she left the room in silence, disappearing in several long strides, and leaving only her scent lingering in the air.  He lifted his chin, sniffed twice, and grimaced involuntarily.  Essence of burnt lard, was it?

He glanced over at the television, and found it beckoning.  Slowly, he rose and crept towards it.

He was just two feet away, when, without warning, it came to life.  He jumped up and let out a cry of surprise.  Spinning around, he discovered that he was no longer alone.  Now sitting on the sofa was a young girl with an elfin face, and long brown hair.  He immediately thought of his sister, Emily, of whom she reminded him.  The girl held a thin black box in her hand and was craning her neck to look past him at the television.

Frowning, she gestured for him to move to the side.  "Do you mind?" she asked, sounding impatient.  "Joe Millionaire's on!"

"Joe Millionaire?"  Baffled, he stepped away from the t.v. and looked around for a place to sit.  Finally, he settled on an armchair to the side of the sofa.

Eyes fixed on the television, the girl inched forward to the edge of her cushion.  "Yeah, tonight it's down to just three gold diggers," she informed him.  She paused, thought for a moment, then said, "Actually, I take that back.  There's really only two gold diggers left.  One seems okay, but you have to wonder if she's for real.  I mean, why would someone be on this show in the first place?"

William had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded anyway.  "Um, quite right," he said, looking from the girl to the t.v. and back to the girl.

"Ooh, it's starting," she said, bouncing in her seat with seeming excitement.  William turned his attention back to the television and watched as an impressive estate loomed onto the screen.  Next, he saw a tall, brawny man with dark, wavy hair that almost touched his shoulders enter an elegant drawing room.  The man was smiling at three attractive women; a brunette with an angular face, another brunette with kinked hair and chipmunk-like teeth, and a blonde with large, er…eyes.  William leaned forward.  He found the last girl rather fetching…  

* * *

Upstairs in her room, Buffy paced about, clutching the cordless phone to her ear.  "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," she muttered under her breath.  After five rings, there was a click and an answering machine came on.  Letting out a breath of frustration, Buffy was about to hang up, when a girl's voice interrupted the machine.

"H-hello?"

Buffy stopped her pacing.  "Tara, thank god you're home!"

"Buffy?  What's going on?"

"I'm not totally sure, but I need you're help."

"Of course, but—"

"I didn't know who else to call.  Can you meet me in an hour or so?"

"Sure, but…is it about Spike?"

Buffy paused.  Clearly, Tara was thinking about Buffy's secret relationship with Spike.  The blonde witch was the only one the Slayer had opened up to about her embarrassing affair with yet another vampire.  Buffy swallowed hard.  "Yeah, but it's not what you're thinking."  
  


* * *

"Now where is it?" Spike muttered to himself as he systematically searched the large mahogany desk in his father's study.  He rifled through the first two drawers before reaching the one on the bottom.  He gave the handle a tug, only to discover that it was locked.  

"Figures," he growled under his breath.  He pulled harder, but it still refused to budge.  "Bloody weakling!"  He looked around the desktop for something to pry it open with, quickly spotting a silver letter opener.  Grabbing the knife-like instrument, he proceeded to jimmy the drawer open and was rewarded several minutes later, when the wood splintered and finally gave way.

Spike smiled, triumphant, eyeing what he had been searching for.  His father's revolver.

* * *

Hair still damp from her shower, Buffy hurried down the stairs, shrugging on her black leather coat as she hit the bottom step.  She turned towards the living room and paused when she saw Dawn and the vampire who looked like Spike but wasn't, watching t.v.  William, as he called himself, seemed animated and curious, flooding the teenager with an array of questions.

Eyes never leaving the set, Dawn hissed for his silence. "Wait until the commercial break!" she ordered.

William nodded.  "Oh, all right.  But isn't it odd that they just went off into his bedroom like that and shut the door?  I mean, you don't think…  Er, they couldn't have…  Um, they didn't, you know…  Did they?"

Dawn shot him an irritated look.  "Hello?  What planet are you from?  Um, gold digger, remember?"

William frowned.  "So these women would just, er, um, bestow themselves upon this 'Joe' fellow—" 

"Evan" Dawn corrected.  "His name's Evan."

"Right.  So they'd just bestow themselves upon this Evan fellow because they believe him to be wealthy?"

Dawn shifted her focus from the television and eyed him with annoyance.  "Um, again, _hello_!  It's sort of the whole premise of the show!"

William sat back in his seat, lips pursed.  "Seems rather sad," he said quietly, "but I suppose there are women who value wealth above all else."  He looked up as Buffy entered to the room, and his eyes locked with hers.  "Of course, not all women are so mercenary."

* * *

Anya took a sip of her cafe mocha and smiled at Halfrek, who was sitting across the table from her at Sunnydale's newest Starbuck's.  "I'm starting to get that really excited feeling," said the bride-to-be/ former demon.  "Now that we've finally got the bridesmaids' dresses picked out, everything's just coming together.  It's like…" she paused, eyes dreamy, staring off in the distance.  "A fairy tale."

In response, her vengeance demon friend forced a smile and patted Anya's hand.  "Oh, Anyanka," she sighed, "Although, I'm happy if you're happy, I still prefer eviscerating princes to marrying them.  Do you remember the time when you disemboweled that French Duke in—"

Grimacing, Anya cleared her throat, silencing Halfrek.  "Well, that was a long time ago.  Things are different now.  I wouldn't…I mean I couldn't possibly even think of…"  She looked at her friend and sighed.  "And besides, Xander's not a prince, he's a construction worker.  Just an ordinary Joe."

Halfrek nodded.  "Still—"

"Hey!" Anya interrupted, eyes suddenly focused on a table across the room.  "Isn't that Buffy and…Spike?"

Halfrek spun halfway in her seat.  "Interesting," she murmured, studying the couple.

"Yeah," Anya continued, her gaze still fixed on the Slayer and vampire.  Buffy was staring at the entrance as if waiting for someone to join them, while Spike glanced around the place like he'd never been inside a Starbuck's before.  "That's odd.  Why would she be here with _him_?" Anya wondered.  "I mean, normally, the only time Buffy ever fraternizes with Spike is when she's out slaying, and even then, he usually has to walk like five paces behind her.  I'm mean she would never…"  She paused and thought for a moment.  "You don't think it's a date, do you?"

Halfrek shrugged.  "Possibly," was her cryptic reply.

Anya frowned.  "But Buffy hates Spike.  I mean, she's good…and, of course, technically, he's evil…"

"Well, you know what they say about opposites, Anyanka."

The ex-demon's eyes narrowed as she stared at her friend.  "You know something, don't you?  The other day, when you mentioned Spike…"

But Halfrek's only response was her smile; closed and tight-lipped, but knowing.  


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He'd always wondered what they saw.  These women—Drusilla, Harmony, and most recently Buffy.

Well, it certainly wasn't the slight-in-stature, ill-at-ease, gentleman poet, he once had been.  The Slayer wouldn't have given a git like that the time of day, let alone given him…the stolen minutes, turned to hours, and then nights.  

No, women didn't go for men like that.  Nice.  Honest.  Safe.  Of course not.  Instead, they went for…

Spike smiled into the dresser mirror, now looking at what they saw.  

Mysterious.  Dark.  Dangerous.  

His smile broadened.  Yeah, even Cecily…

She'd seen it.  Although sonnet after sonnet of his heart-felt poetry had fallen on deaf ears, the sudden gleam in his eyes, the smirk, the sneer, and the touch of cruelty…  Now, that had caught her attention.  She was his—if he wanted her.

Of course he didn't; not any more.  But her sudden interest had proved useful.  He patted the bulge in his coat pocket where his father's revolver was hidden.  How easy it had been to persuade her to meet him, alone, and in a dark deserted place.  A midnight rendezvous.  So romantic.  But just a ruse.

Ah, well…

He glanced in the mirror a final time before turning to leave.  If everything went according to his plan, he'd be back in Sunnydale soon.

* * *

"Tara!"  Buffy stood up, waving as the blonde witch approached their table.  Tara smiled and quickened her step, then shot a curious look at William as she took the seat next to his.

"So," Tara began, turning her attention to Buffy, "what's going on?"

Buffy looked uncomfortably at William then back at Tara.  "Something's happened to Spike," she replied.  "He's…not himself."

"Okay…" said the Wiccan, a baffled frown on her face.  "That was…vague."

"Yeah, well, he's—" Buffy started to explain.

"I'm not Spike," William said without prompting.

"You're not?"  Looking surprised, Tara eyed the vampire.  "I mean, you sure look like—"

"Well, technically, he is Spike…only he's not," Buffy cut in.

"I see," said Tara, but her expression showed that she clearly didn't.

"Actually, I'm William," the blonde vampire explained.

Buffy nodded.  "William the Bloody."

The aptly named poet looked at the Slayer, horrified.  "How did you…?"

Ignoring him, Buffy focused on Tara.  "He claims to have come from London."  
  


"Well Spike _is_ British…" Tara said, sounding unimpressed.

"He thinks it's 1880—the year Spike was turned," Buffy persisted.

"So…"  Tara shrugged.

"He didn't know he was a vampire."

The Wiccan still looked blank.

"Don't you get it?" Buffy asked, a little flustered.  "He's nice!  See?  He's all thoughtful, and gentle.  He's not Spike!"

"So you're thinking it's—"

"A body swap!"

Understanding finally started to register Tara's face.  "Oh, like the time with you and Faith?"

"Exactly!"  Buffy paused.  "Except it's not."

"Uh huh."  Blankness set back in.

"I think," the Slayer explained, "that he's the man Spike was…before he was sired."

"Sired?"  William frowned.  "What do you mean?" But neither girl was listening.

"So," Tara said, nodding, "he's William."

"Yes," Buffy hissed.  "William's mind…and maybe even his soul…in Spike's body."

Tara sat back, looking stunned.  "Wow."  She glanced at William who looked thoroughly confused.  "But how…?" Tara asked.

"I don't know," Buffy replied.  "Not yet anyway.  But that's where you come in.  I figure it has to be some kind of spell.  We need to figure out how to break it."

Tara was quiet for a moment then looked pointedly at Buffy.  "Even if I could break the spell…which is pretty doubtful.  Why would we even want to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said he was nice…  That he may have a soul.  I guess I don't see the problem."

"But…" Buffy began.  What _was_ the problem?  She glanced at William, who immediately looked back at her.  His eyes reflected gentleness and warmth.  She thought back to the times she'd spent with the displaced Victorian.  More gentleness and warmth.  So what was the problem?

"Buffy?" Tara said, placing a hand on the Slayer's.

"It's just that…" Buffy's mouth went dry.  She felt guilty about lying to her friend.  "There may be other consequences that we don't know about."  Well it wasn't really a lie.  "Magic always has consequences, right?"  It was mostly the truth.  "So, other stuff may be going on because of this.  Bad stuff.  Terrible stuff.  Stuff we've got to stop."  

Tara nodded.  She seemed to be buying it.

"So, we've got to reverse the spell—because of that."  Buffy finished, letting out a shaky breath.  She lowered her gaze down to the table in front of her.  

No, it wasn't a lie.  It just wasn't the whole truth.

* * *  

"Where are you going?" demanded a voice, cutting through the dark quiet of night.  It echoed softly down the long hallway, making him stop and turn on his heel.

"Em?" he said, peering through the dim at the sister who should've been asleep, but wasn't.  She was dressed in her nightgown, peeking out from behind the door to her bedroom. 

"Where are you going?" she asked again, her voice a mixture of curiosity and excitement.  "Are you going to see _Cecily_?"

Spike let out a low groan and shook his head.  "No, pet," he replied.  "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just going to play cards with some of the fellows."

Emily looked skeptical.  "But you don't play cards," she said, her voice doubtful.

"Afraid so, sis," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "but don't tell Mother about it, okay?"

"But—"

"Hey," Spike said gently, quickly cutting the distance between them to a couple of feet.  "I've a little proposition to make."

"All right," she looked up at him, her eyes both stubborn and eager.  Spike couldn't help but smile.  

"How about this," he said, steering her back into her bedroom.  "You go back to sleep, and pretend that our little meeting in the hallway here, was just a dream, and…"

She dug her heels into the Persian rug.  "And?"

"And I'll be forever grateful."

Emily made a sour face.  "That's not—"

But Spike was already herding her back to her large four-poster bed.   "Ah…ah…ah," he said, now helping her get under the covers.  "Don't make light of my offer."  He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, paused, then hugged her with a fierceness that surprised him.

"Forever is a long time, luv," he whispered as he pulled away.  "A long time."

* * *

She treated him as if he wasn't there; talking _about_ him, but rarely _to_ him.  Her eyes avoided his, shifting away whenever they chanced to meet.

He was the problem she was determined to solve.  Nothing more.  She'd made that clear.  Whoever this Spike fellow was, she wanted him back.  William may have briefly possessed her body, but this Spike owned her heart.

He'd never had a chance with her.  William realized that now.  Her feelings for this man, although unprofessed, were true.  He saw it whenever he looked into her eyes, and caught the pain.  She was trying to hide behind brave words and jests.  Maybe she'd fooled the kind-hearted friend who had met them at this place.  He took a sip of his latte.  But she hadn't fooled him.

No, William was an expert on feelings and love.  It was the poet in him, always looking inward, trying to capture emotions on paper.  And although, never quite succeeding, it had given him insight into the heart, his own, as well as others.

Hers was wide open, and he'd read it.  

Sighing, he took another sip of his drink.  Perhaps it was for the best; for him to return to his own time, his own boring, but normal life.  There was comfort in his existence…and promise.  Even for an ordinary fellow like himself, there was a chance for light.  He'd seen it as she'd walked down the stairs at that party, which now seemed like so long ago.  The shining, the luminescence…

And though perhaps, not so blinding as the light of the Slayer, she was, he thought, a better match for someone such as himself.

Barely listening as Buffy and the girl named Tara discussed possible spells and plans of action, William sipped the rich, warm liquid that had been ordered for him.  A pleasing concoction he'd never had before—and probably never would again.  He savored it, savored the moment; of living, and the adventure of being in a world so strange.  A world where everything was different.  Everything…  He paused, suddenly eyeing something that, oddly enough…was familiar.

Not something, but rather _someone_.  

He stared at the rich, brown abundance of curls.  The face, round and laughing, as it turned towards him.  Her light shown from across the room.

His eyes widened, surprised, mouth opened, lips forming her name.  A whisper.

"Cecily."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 "William?"

Despite the fact that he was really an evil, dead thing at heart, Spike jumped.

From behind her family mausoleum, Cecily emerged.  She stood in the cemetery, hair uncharacteristically disheveled, breathing uneven, and clutching her heather fall coat around her.  She was shivering from the cold; steamy wisps drifted from her mouth as she spoke.

"I was worried that you might've changed your mind," she said, her words hurried.  Although he was over fifteen minutes late, Spike couldn't detect even a hint of anger in her voice.  Funny, she'd never struck him as the patient sort.

"Sorry, luv," he said, shooting her his best rakish smile.  "I got a bit turned around on the way.  I'm not used to walking about cemeteries at night."

Cecily laughed nervously.  "Nor am I, William," she said, "I wondered about you're asking me to meet you here.  In such a place…and at night…"

"I know…I know, pet," Spike replied, taking a long step toward her.  "It's a queer place to meet.  But I thought it would be…private."  He gave her a long, devouring look, raking his eyes down her body.  "Wouldn't want anyone to see…what I'm going to do…to you."

His tone was sinister, but Cecily didn't seem to notice.  Her face flushed, and she glanced away from him in mock embarrassment.  "Oh, William," she cooed; she turned back towards him and tentatively approached.  She looked up into his eyes, causing them to widen at what he saw flash in hers.  Desire.  "I'm so glad we're of the same mind," she purred, placing a gloved hand on his cheek.  Her face was now tilted up towards his, her lips parted slightly in a way that was meant to be beckoning.  "Ever since that night, at the party," she breathed, "I've thought of little else but you."

Spike took a step back and batted her hand away.  "Now wait just a minute here—"

"I know I don't deserve you.  I've been so cruel in the past.  But you opened my eyes that night.  Gave me a taste of my own medicine.  It was your words that made me see…"

Spike retreated another step, but Cecily quickly closed the gap.  "S-see what?" Spike asked, now backed up against a large gravestone.

Standing inches in front of him, Cecily stood on her tiptoes, her face looming up towards his.  "Why…you, of course," she replied matter-of-factly.  Then, as if from nowhere, two delicate gloved hands reached up and latched onto the back of his head, pulling, pulling, pulling him down until her lips met his.  Soft and petal smooth, they parted, making way for her warm, wet tongue, which suddenly, he found, was exploring the inside cavities of his mouth. 

* * *

"Oh, good heavens, could it be?" William exclaimed, standing in front of the woman whom he had just, moments before, realized to be his one true love.

Halfrek stared up at him, quickly masking the look of displeasure that had crossed her face.  "Hello, William," she said, smiling rather stiffly.

"Cecily," he said, fervent and quiet.  He dropped down on one knee, mouth agape, astonished.  "It _is_ you!"

The vengeance demon let out a girlish laugh and waved her hand dismissively.  "Ah, more or less," she conceded.  "Actually, I think 'more' would be more accurate."

"Then you have _also_ been displaced in this strange world," William commented, excited.  He glanced at Cecily's companion, who was frowning at him.

"Spike?" Anya said, looking from the vampire to her friend.  "Halfrek, what's going on?"

* * *

"So, you think a general reversal spell probably wouldn't work in this case," Buffy said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.  She and Tara had been so caught up in their discussion that they'd barely noticed when William had excused himself from the table.  He'd been gone for almost a minute, when she noticed him talking to a woman on the other side of the room.  He looked excited, like he was chatting with an old acquaintance.  Then he dropped down on one knee.

"Buffy?"

The Slayer gestured in William's direction and Tara swiveled in her seat, spying the Victorian talking to…  Her eyes immediately narrowed and she turned back to Buffy.

Buffy nodded.  Things were starting to make sense.

"Halfrek."

* * *

After several seconds of frantic kissing, Spike managed to push Cecily away from him.  "No," he said, trying to sound firm and commanding.  He'd show her who was in charge here.

Cecily gasped and appeared miffed.  "I don't understand," she said, "I thought that you and I—"

But Spike held up his hand, silencing her.  "I said no."

"Was it something I did?" she asked, looking at him with wide, shining eyes.  "I've displeased you, haven't I?"

Spike shook his head.  "It's not—"

"But, what then?  I've seen the way you look at me.  Like you want to…"

"Eat you?" Spike finished.  She had no idea!

Cecily paused, raised her hand to her throat.  "Why...yes."

Ah, if he could, Spike thought, he most definitely would.  But, he was all too human in this time zone.  His hand went down to his coat pocket, seeking the revolver.  He would have to take his pleasure another way.

"William?"  Her fingers closed around his forearm as his closed around the mother of pearl handle of his father's gun.  She looked up at him.  He saw her desire stirring again, mixed with something else.  Desperation?

Cecily then whipped off her gloves and hastily began undoing the buttons of her coat.  When she was finished, she shrugged it off, letting the garment fall to the ground.

Under the brightness of a full moon, Spike stared down in surprise, at Cecily, standing before him—stark naked.

* * *

"Halfrek, what's going on?" Anya asked again.  "Have you done something to Spike?  He seems…_different_."

"Well," Halfrek began, looking like she had been caught embezzling funds from a charity.  "I—"  
  


"Yes, do tell," Buffy, who was now standing behind William, cut in.  "Tell us what the hell's going on with Spike!"

Halfrek glanced at the Slayer and shrugged.  "Well if you must know," she said finally, "he made a wish."

"He made a what?" Buffy asked, incredulous.

"You heard me.  He made a wish," Halfrek replied.

"But…why?"  Buffy sounded deflated.

"Because he loves you.  And you treat him like crap."

"Now, wait a minute!" Anya chimed in.  "Hallie, you're a, and I use the term loosely, 'justice' demon, correct?"

Halfrek nodded.

"So," Anya continued, looking a little dumbfounded, "where's the 'justice'?  I mean Spike's been stalking Buffy for, oh, about a year now, and yes, I agree, she does treat him like crap, but he's like…a stalker.  What she's supposed to do?  Give him sex?"

"Or maybe just her unwashed undergarments," Tara commented in an attempt at humor.

"Hey!" Buffy snapped.  "Whether there was justice or not…that's irrelevant.  What matters is that Halfrek reverse the spell."  She turned to the vengeance demon.  "Whatever you did.  Undo it.  Okay?"

Halfrek gazed at the Slayer and smiled stubbornly.  "I don't think so."

"Wrong answer," Buffy said through clenched teeth.  She grabbed Halfrek by the hair and yanked her off her seat.

"Cecily!"  William was on his feet, trying to pull Buffy away from the woman he believed himself to be in love with.  The Slayer backhanded him and sent him tumbling into a nearby table and chairs.

"Reverse it!" Buffy demanded, holding Halfrek in a headlock and threatening to snap her neck.

"Fool!" Halfrek sneered, instantly transforming into her vengeance demon façade.  She easily wrenched herself free of the Slayer and sent Buffy flying backwards with a powerful blow to her forehead.

"Now, Hallie," Anya said, cautiously backing away from her two friends.  She glanced around the Starbuck's and noted that the patrons and employees were all wisely rushing for the exit.

Buffy had easily risen to her feet and was now in a fighting stance.  She glared at the demon.  "Last chance, Halfrek.  Reverse it, or I'll kill you."

Halfrek looked amused.  "I'd like to see you try."  She confidently advanced on the Slayer and the two exchanged a round of blows.  Then Buffy landed a solid punch to the demon's chest.  Winded, Halfrek staggered back, grabbing her bruised sternum.  

"Reverse it!" Buffy demanded again.

Halfrek barely flinched, her look stubborn.  "I—" she began, then gasped suddenly, her eyes widening.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Halfrek stared at the Slayer, her now human face contorted in horror.  "Oh, no…" she gasped, grabbing her head in both hands.  She glanced about the room, at Anya, at Tara, at a befuddled William rising from the floor, and finally back at Buffy.  "Got to get out of here," she muttered, almost to herself, and then bolted for the door, catching an unsuspecting William in the temple with a errant elbow and knocking him flat, on her way out.

Stunned, Buffy turned to Tara, and then Anya.  All were speechless for several seconds, before the former vengeance demon finally spoke.

"Wow," she said, glancing at Buffy, "I always thought you were scary looking, but…" She shook her head.  "Must be those brassy blonde highlights."

Tara frowned.  "Why do you think she—"

"I don't know," Buffy cut in, looking at the witch, "I don't think it was anything _I_ did.  Maybe…" She turned to William, still lying on the floor.  He appeared to be unconscious.  "Maybe Spike…  The spell…"

Tara moved over to the motionless vampire, knelt down at his side and placed a hand on his cheek.  He remained still.  "Spike—  I mean William's out cold."  She slapped his face lightly, and still, he didn't stir.

Anya gazed around the now empty Starbuck's and cleared her throat, getting her friends' attention.  "Maybe we should go," she suggested, "before Sunnydale's finest get here.  I'm gonna have enough debt as it is with this wedding to pay for."  She glanced about at the broken chairs and tables that littered the establishment.  "I'm sure they have insurance," she added.  "Big companies with deep pockets."  She reached into her own jeans pockets.  "Small pockets, see?" she said, pulling out the pocket liners to emphasize her point.

Buffy nodded unconsciously.  "Maybe she's right," she said, striding towards Tara and the inert William.  Buffy leaned over the vampire and gave him a resounding smack.  He moaned softly, but didn't wake up.  With little effort, she picked up the vampire, who, although lean, was still approximately twice her weight, and slung him over her shoulder.  "I'll take William home," she said.  "Then I'll go looking for Halfrek."  She turned to Anya.  "Any ideas of where I might find her?"

Anya shot her a dubious look and shook her head.  "Sorry.  Not a clue."

Buffy's eyes narrowed and she studied the former demon for several seconds, deciding if she was telling the truth.

"I really don't know!" Anya insisted irritably.

The Slayer nodded.  "I believe you," she said, her voice quiet.  She tightened her grip on William's legs and headed for the door.  As she reached the exit, Buffy stopped, and glanced over her shoulder.  "But tell your friend," she said, "that when I find her, I _will_ kill her."

And then she was gone, leaving Anya and Tara alone in the ruined Starbuck's.  The two women exchanged a look, but remained silent.  Within seconds the place was completely deserted.

* * *

He'd committed a heinous act.  Or was it acts? 

It was almost dawn and he was only now undressing for bed.  He glanced in the mirror, noting his disheveled appearance; clothes wrinkled and soiled, hair mussed.  He reached into his coat pocket and took out his father's revolver, absently checking the barrel and noting all six bullets were still nestled safely in their chambers.  None had been fired.

His clothes still smelled of Cecily.  He stripped them off, but she was also on his skin.  He thought of Buffy and couldn't help feeling that he had somehow betrayed her.  He scowled at the thought.

_Hogwash!_

He'd done it for her.  To get back to Sunnydale, so they could be together.  

He'd realized that killing Cecily would've only caused a bigger disaster, drastically changing the past, and possibly even causing a rift in time.  A paradox.

So instead, he'd sent a message…to Halfrek.

He smiled an evil, calculating smile, hoping she'd gotten it.

* * *

She awoke cold, but sated.

"William," she murmured, arms searching for him, seeking his body to warm hers.  A draft blew over her bare skin, and she heard the sound of voices, then footsteps.  Slowly, she opened her eyes, and was greeted by the sight of a large cross looming above her, silhouetted against a kaleidoscope of colors shining brightly.  Stained glass illuminated by sunlight.

"Oh God!"

The voices grew louder; footsteps echoed against cold marble.  She scrambled to her feet, searching for clothes that weren't there.  Eyes wide, she looked for William. 

But he was gone.

She was alone, standing naked, at the altar, when the priest walked in.  A man in his late forties, he looked at her with surprise and a hint of lecherous curiosity.  Others followed.  Churchgoers arriving early to secure a front row seat:  a tall, gaunt man and his heavyset wife; an elderly couple; a family of eight.  All stopped and stared.  Some gasped.  Some murmured.

Cecily backed away from them, hunched forward, covering what she could with her hands and arms.  Then she turned and ran blindly, arms pumping like a sprinter; stopping only briefly to snatch a random coat from the rack by the door.  Then she ran barefoot down the street, several blocks, to her family home.  Breathless, she hurried upstairs to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her, eyes filled with unshed tears that finally were unleashed in the privacy of her room.

She slumped against her dresser, face hidden behind her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.  She'd been humiliated.  Simply humiliated!

And by…William!  Oh, why?

She looked up into the mirror, blinking back tears to see reflection.  Her face was red and shining, her hair a jungle of curls.  She stood a little straighter and the coat fell open, revealing the bare skin beneath.

Squinting, she looked at the writing across her breasts.  Black, soot, forming letters.  She wiped back more tears and focused on the words.  Written backwards; meant to be read in a mirror, they said, "Reverse It!"

* * *

Halfrek finally stopped running when she reached an alley a few blocks from the Starbuck's.  Panting, she leaned forward, hands on her knees.

The memories.  Oh God, the memories!  How horrible!

William was messing with her past.  He had to be stopped!  She took a deep breath and straightened to full height.  There was only one thing she could do.  

"I take it back," she whispered, "I…"  She paused, then spoke in a more commanding voice.  "I reverse the wish!"

* * *

In the underground part of his lair, Buffy stood looking down at the vampire lying asleep on the large bed.  His face was perfect, as if chiseled from stone.

There was no evil in this face.  She sat down on the edge of the bed, knowing, there was no evil in this man.

William.

He was innocent.  Not like the monster who'd left her.  Yet she longed for the monster.

Tentatively, she reached out her hand, and traced the edge of his cheek with her fingertips; skin, smooth and ageless.  His lips were parted, enticing her.  She leaned forward, hesitated, then kissed him.

A light, delicate kiss.  She pulled up quickly, feeling a twinge of guilt for kissing one man, while thinking of another.

Then he stirred; lashes fluttering.  She let out a small gasp as his eyes opened.  Sudden and wakeful, like he'd been feigning sleep for some time.

He gazed up at her, and there was something in his look that was different.  Darker than before.  And then he smiled, and she knew.

"Spike."

He reached up to caress her face, then both hands pulled her down to him, his lips seeking hers.  Hungry and forceful, they stole her breath, and left her gasping for more.  

She drew away, just slightly, eyes filled with wonder.  "You came back," she whispered, her expression searching.  "But how?"

His lips curled into a lazy smile as if the events of the past couple of days had never happened.  "It's not important," he said, arms tightening around her, pulling her close for another kiss.  

"But Halfrek…  She said you made a wish.  I tried to make her reverse it, but she got away."  Her words came out hurried, then she stopped and stared at him, gaze focusing.  "It was you, wasn't it?  You—"

"I did what I had to," he answered quickly.   "And whatever I did, I did for you."

"But…"  Her voice trailed off, and she relaxed against him, giving in to the embrace.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured against her skin, before claiming her lips, once again, with his.

Thoughts flashed through her head; of Halfrek, the wish, and of William.  Unanswered questions whispering inside of her.  But they didn't matter.  And slowly, they slipped away.  She concentrated instead on the kiss, matching and even surpassing the voracity of his passion.

Then with swift, catlike grace, he shifted his weight and rolled on top of her; his body leaning into hers.  Capturing her hands with his, their fingers entwined, he had her pinned to the bed.  He stared down at her, his eyes slightly glazed, lips parted and quivering almost imperceptibly.  His mouth twitched into a vague, mysterious smile, and she felt her heart tug inside of her.

"Miss me?" he asked, hoarse and breathless.

"I…"  She stared at him, unable to hide the fact that she really had, but not ready to tell him.  She remained frozen for a moment, then answered in small voice.  "A little."

He seemed satisfied with her response, probably because he'd guessed the truth.  He looked at her, his expression a mixture of lust and amusement.  "A little," he said softly.  "Well, I suppose that's something."

Buffy nodded, not trusting her voice.  She turned her head to the side, feeling the cool pillow against her cheek, and closed her eyes.  His body was pressing down on hers, and she couldn't ignore the growing heat caused by his proximity.  She arched her back, pushing up against him, urging him on with growing impatience.

She didn't have long to wait though, as moments later, their clothes were strewn over the dirt floor, and his hands and mouth seemed everywhere.  

At last, she let his darkness fill her, replacing the emptiness, and, at least for a little while, making her feel warm, and loved, and alive.

* * *

And they lived happily ever after…until, of course, she broke up with him the following week after finding out he was a black market dealer of scary demon eggs…  ;)

A/N – Thanks to everyone who left feedback!  This story started of as a bit of fluff and fun, but ended up something more substantial.  Your comments and support have helped shape the story to what it is.  Thanks again!


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